Mauvais Garçon
by muchoblidged
Summary: Shortly after the Battle of France and Germany's invasion of Paris, Germany meets up with France for a bit of gloating. But despite his recent loss, France still has a little bit of French spirit in him. Pairing/s/: None


France's knees slammed into the Champs-Élysées with a dull thud. He grit his teeth against the rods of pain that shot up his thighs and down his shins. A short, hot breath escaped him as he tried to ignore the throbbing, refusing to give the uniformed man behind him the satisfaction of his grunt or anguished cry. He liked to think that, as a Frenchman, he had more composure than that.

The barrel of the Mauser Kar rifle was a cold and achingly tactile ring against the base of his skull as it prodded him forward. France entertained the thought of laughing, because the man couldn't honestly hope for France to _grovel._ He smirked through his terror, the cloying fog that had been smothering on him ever since_ they_ broke the Maginot Line.

Polished black military boots moved into his peripheral vision; France closed his eyes as the officer strode in front of him.

"This has been a good day," Germany began.

France grimaced at the drawling German accent, at how it twisted his language. He knew that the man was purposely mispronouncing the words, and it...bothered him, to say the least.

"I had a wonderful breakfast, a nice talk with my boss, and now I have you. Paris, in fact. I have..._Paris_. But of course, you know that already."

The barrel slipped under his chin and forced France's head up, titling it skyward. He opened his eyes slowly and met Germany's gaze. Cold, dull blue eyes brimmed with an arrogance more dangerous and potent than the very clear malice accompanying it. France jerked his head away from the gun, averting his gaze and ducking his shame-burned face.

"Actually, there is..." the sounds of shuffling, squealing leather gloves and scrapping cloth, did not draw France's attention up, "there is a little something I have been meaning to do."

A small piece of metal clattered across the road, tumbling to a stop in front of France. He glanced at it – a razor. He looked at Germany and released a crude "_What_?" as a derisive laugh bubbled up in his throat. It was carefully swallowed, but he didn't mask his amusement.

"Of all the things about you that make me picture your head beneath my boot, your ridiculous beard is one of the most irritating." Germany gave France's forehead a poke with the rifle that was almost juvenile in its casualness. "Shave."

France snorted. "You must be joking."

Germany stared at him and jerked his head to either side infinitesimally. "_Nein_."

France slowly took his hands from behind his head, reached down and picked up the razor, thumbed its blade idly. He flicked his eyes up to Germany once more, but the man's expression never faltered.

"No." France grinned after a pause. He stroked his jaw with his index finger and thumb. "I'm rather proud of this and I –"

Germany drove the butt of the rifle into France's face, making him jerk backwards. He felt cartilage – not bone, thankfully – shift unsettlingly, and smelled the wet tang of iron soon as soon as his vision focused. With soft, heavy breaths, France wiped his bloodied nose and mouth and gave Germany a frenzied smirk. "I see your new management has done _wonders_ for your conduct."

Those dead, blue eyes narrowed and when Germany raised the Kar for another jab, France flinched preemptively. The blow, however, was halted by a shouted "_Herr_!" called across the street by a young Nazi.

Germany turned. "_Was ist das_?"

The soldier jogged over to Germany after snapping a quick salute. "_Herr...Er will wissen, wo Sie sind. Sie sind spät._"

Germany's eyes widened, and a twisted joy crept into their depths as a sneer crossed his lips. "_Ja, ja. Ich werde bald kommen_."

"_Ich werde die Botschaft Relais,_" the man nodded. He stepped back, saluted, and ran off. France watched him go and cocked his head, curious.

Germany rested the rifle on his shoulder. "_Ja, _I almost forgot! My boss has something special planned for today." He grabbed France by the collar with one hand and dragged him to his feet. Their eyes locked, and something in the younger man's expression made France's heart race. "He's going to dance. Right under your precious tower."

France swallowed heavily. "Your humor is as poor as your French, _Deutschland_," he laughed nervously, gripping Germany's wrist. "I'll shave if you want, just let me go."

"_Nein_, this seems like much more fun." Germany released France, shoving him back.

"You're a bastard," France muttered, rubbing at the crimson stream dribbling down his face.

The Kar was in Germany's hands in moments. His gloved finger tapped the trigger, and a shot rang out. A crumpled bullet gleamed, half embedded in the pavement at their feet. "March you filth," Germany hissed, raising the rifle to France's sternum. The hot barrel skimmed his chest, burning through France's shirt. "We have got a show to catch."

–

He was shaking, visibly trembling as the camera man set up for the shot. Germany stood at his side, his hand firmly gripping his new territory's shoulder. his mouth was canted in some bastardization of a grin. The hollow echo of that sadist's boots as they smacked the pavement beneath his glorious tower, tapping out some hideous German dance, clung to France's mind, playing subdued amidst the white noise of German conversation. France winced as the grip on his shoulder tightened, and he wearily titled his head towards Germany. "Look up," Germany murmured, jerking his chin towards the scene. "I wouldn't want you to miss this. I want you remember this moment, _cherish it_ for the next thousand years." France attempted to straighten, to force himself to look at the horror unfolding before him. Germany's superior and two other men were lining up for a picture, shifting their poses and straightening their cuffs, right in front of his tower, his beautiful,_ beloved_ monument.

_God, this is just another one of your jokes, right?_ A hysterical smile broke onto his face as he watched the three men mutter amongst themselves in German, barking occasional orders to the surrounding personnel. _You always have had quite the sense of humor, haven't you?  
_

"The _Eiffelturm_ looks wonderful in this light, _ja_?" Germany chortled, lecherous in his self-satisfaction.

There was one saving grace, though; from here he couldn't see the troops goose-stepping down his Champs-Élysées, marching by his Arc de Triomph completely unabashed – the Arc de Triomph with the German flag raised above it...

It had to be a joke.

"What is it they say overseas?" France blinked, jerked from his reverie by Germany's whispered query. "In... The Americans, they have this funny little idiom."

"'Cheese,'" France mumbled, staring wide-eyed at the scene. "I believe they say 'cheese'."

"Of course." Germany nodded with a small chuckle. He raised a hand, gesturing to the photograph-to-be. The camera man bent down, making the final adjustments to his position for the shot. The trio stopped fidgeting and preening and straightened as they faced the camera. "Well," Germany let out a clipped laugh and sneered in perfect English, "_Say cheese_."

_Click._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

More plot bunnies. This was inspired by Germany's quote in the anime, "I'll pluck every hair out of that Frenchman's beard." and it evolved into...this. I'm not sure where I got this from, but I heard that after Paris was captured, Hitler did a jig under the Eiffel tower, and then I found this picture _http:/ upload. wikimedia. org/ wikipedia/en/d/db/Adolf_Hitler_in_Paris_1940. jpg_ (remove the spaces) while looking up the Battle of France, so that went in too. This fan fiction is loosely based on the Battle of France in 1940, sometime after France had been captured by the Nazi army.

The photo mentioned is a real photo of Adolph Hitler with architect Albert Speer and artist Arno Breker taken in front of the Eiffel tower.

The Mauser Kar was a German rifle used by the Nazi army during WWII.

Maginot Line: http:/ . org/wiki/Maginot_Line (remove the spaces.)

Translations:

_Mauvais Garçon_ - "Bad Boy"

_Nein_ - "no"

_Ja_ - "yes"

_Herr_ - "sir" or "mister"

_Er will wissen, wo Sie sind. Sie sind spät. - _"He wants to know, where are you. You are late."

_Ich werde bald kommen -_ "I will come soon."

_Ich werde die Botschaft Relais -_ "I will pass on the message."

_Deutschland - _"Germany"

_Eiffelturm - _"Eiffel Tower"


End file.
